“Exactly, Sunshine. What if he spent years looking for you?”
I press my hands to my face, trying to process this new, terrible possibility. Ryder pulls me against his chest, one hand stroking my hair while I cry into his bare shoulder.
“There’s a term for this. I watched a movie about it,” he says quietly after a while. “Parental alienation. When one parent turns a child against the other parent through manipulation and lies.”
The clinical term makes it real in a way that speculation didn’t. My stomach plummets as I pull back to look at him. “You think that’s what happened?”
“I don’t know, sweet. But the pieces you’re describing—the sudden move, the stories about him not wanting you, preventing you from saying goodbye, scaring you by saying he might hurt you if he followed you—those fit the pattern.”
“If it’s true…” I have to stop; the enormity of it is overwhelming. “If it’s true, then my whole childhood was built on lies. Everything I believed about myself, about why I wasn’t worth loving…”
“Youareworth loving,” Ryder says fiercely, framing my face with his hands. “No matter what happened with your parents, that doesn’t change. You hear me? You are wortheverything.”
“How can you be so sure?”
“Because I’ve seen who you are. The way you care for every animal here, the way you’ve fought for your dreams even when everything felt hopeless. That’s not someone who isn’t worth loving. That’s someone extraordinary.”
I want to argue, to catalog every flaw and fracture that makes me unworthy. But the conviction in his gaze steals my protest, and for the first time in a long while, I let myself believe him.
“I need to know,” I say. “I need to find out what really happened.”
“Then we’ll find out. Together.”
“How? I don’t even know where he is.”
“We start with what you remember. His name, his last address. People leave trails, especially online.” He brushes away my tears with his thumbs. “When the power’s stable, we can search. Find current addresses, phone numbers. Whatever you need.”
The thought terrifies and thrills me in equal measure. “What if he doesn’t want to hear from me?”
“Then at least you’ll know for sure. But Laney…” His eyes are serious, intent. “The man who raised a daughter like you? Whotaught her to care for every living thing and fight for what matters? I can’t believe he just walked away without a damn good reason. And if your mother did this to both of you…” He takes a breath. “Then he’s probably been hoping for this call for twenty years.”
Hope blooms in my chest, fragile but real. “You think so?”
“I know so.”
We sit for a long moment, holding each other while this new possibility reshapes everything I thought I knew. Hamlet snorts and shifts closer, somehow sensing the emotional weight of the moment. Peanut, for once, is quiet.
“Will you help me?” I ask finally. “When we search online, when I make the call—ifI make the call—will you stay with me?”
“I’m not going anywhere.” He pulls me closer. “Whatever you need, however you need to do this—I’m here.”
The promise settles into my bones, solid and sure. For the first time in my life, I don’t flinch away from someone offering to stay.
We head to the barn and spend a couple of hours tending to the animals. Their unconditional affection is exactly the therapy I need right now.
We spend the rest of the morning quietly together. When the power flickers back on around noon, Ryder helps me set upmy laptop at the kitchen table. We search methodically—David Hillman, cross-referenced with my old town.
We find three possibilities. One by one, we narrow them down using addresses I half-remember, public records, Facebook profiles with carefully limited information.
“This one,” I say finally, my hands shaking as I point at the screen. “David Hillman. Age fifty-three, moved to Sacramento fifteen years ago. That’s him. That has to be him.”
Ryder pulls up a phone number associated with the address. “Do you want to call now?”
“No.” I shake my head quickly. “I need time to think about what I’ll say. Tomorrow. I’ll call tomorrow.”
“Christmas morning?”
“Yeah.” My voice is steady despite the nerves underneath. “It feels right somehow. Like… giving myself the gift of truth.”
